16.3.16 Someone covered one of the Bill Poetries with long emails about a “cover up”. I saw the poem peeking out from underneath “like a bomb” so got out my tiny, sharp thread-snippers and cut it free. (I realise now that I left the gaffa tape in place, though I had designs on a piece). As I left, paper and blades in hand, I locked eyes with a man. He was sitting out front of a cafe, possibly with a paper of his own, others’ news. I couldn’t read his face except to tell that he had witnessed the entire operation.